


In All But Blood

by margdean56



Series: Great Water Holt Stories [1]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: Gen, Great Water Holt, Human/elf relations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margdean56/pseuds/margdean56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of very unusual soulsisters come to Great Water Holt.  Can they make a place for themselves there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In All But Blood

**Author's Note:**

> As is usual with holt stories, only the characters of Flotsam and Jetsam belong to me. The others are the characters of other holt members and are used by permission.

It was one of those pellucid mornings that often follow a night of storm — and last night’s was a dilly, Raventongue thought with satisfaction as he untangled himself from the sleep furs and went to the door of his hometree. He loved to listen to storms. The roar of wind and the rumble of thunder always woke a deep exhilaration in his spirit. Besides, it gave him and Dove a good excuse to snuggle closer together. Not that they really needed one… With a fond smile, he glanced over his shoulder at his lifemate’s sleeping form, then peered out the door.

The ground outside was littered with leaves and branches torn from the trees by the fierce wind, but there didn’t seem to be any major damage. As he scanned the surrounding area, he caught sight of two more early risers — the lanky figure of Tallreed and the smaller form of his lifemate Whistlewind. They were walking in a leisurely manner across the holt in the general direction of the beach. “Good morning!” Raventongue called to them, as he stepped from the doorway and walked toward them. “I think I can guess where you two are going. Hunting shells?”

“Good guess,” Tallreed replied. “Those sea-storms from away-from-hub bring up the best ones. We thought we’d start out a bit below Dolphin Bay and work our way hubward from there.”

“Do you mind company?”

Whistlewind shot a glare at Raventongue as if to say yes, she did mind, but Tallreed smiled at him. “Not at all. You can spot the ones I miss.”

A little farther on, the three of them heard a cheery hail. “Hey, Tallreed! You’re forgetful this morning, brother.” Moonkit came sauntering toward them, accompanied by Whistlewind’s sister Amber and her bond-lynx Golda. “Firstly,” Moonkit went on, holding up one finger, “you forgot to invite us on your expedition, and secondly,” she held up another finger, “you forgot lunch.” She swung the heavy basket she carried over one arm. “Lucky for you, we remembered for you. Aren’t you glad?” She took her brother’s arm and grinned up at him impudently. He smiled back at her, patting her hand.

“I certainly am, Kit. But where’s Teaser?”

His sister made a comical grimace. “With Softspeak, where else? Sometimes I think if I didn’t have to nurse him once in a while, I’d never get a chance at the cub myself.” She shrugged. “Maybe he’ll ease up in a season or two…”

“What have you got in there?” Raventongue asked, reaching for the basket.

Moonkit snatched it away. “You’ll find out when the time comes, nosey-butt. Don’t you like surprises?”

Raventongue chuckled. “As long as they’re nice ones.”

The five elves continued on toward the shore, walking slowly, enjoying the sunshine and the cool, salty breeze. Once they reached the water’s edge they started up the beach. Tallreed and Raventongue walked along the waterline, stooping every so often to poke around in the wet sand for shells. Moonkit and Amber helped them for a while, but were distracted when Golda found a crab. The two females watched with amusement as the lynx tried in vain to lay a paw on the scuttling crustacean. It kept darting maddeningly out of his reach. At last it shot over the water’s edge. Golda jumped back with a startled hiss as an incoming wave barely missed wetting his paws. Moonkit and Amber laughed as the cat came padding back to his bondmate, whiskers twitching in disgust.

To her lifemate’s continued despair, Whistlewind’s attitude toward water was similar to Golda’s, so she stayed well above the tideline as they progressed up the beach. Thus she was the first to spot the long, rounded object lying in the sand not far from the mouth of Dolphin Bay. “Tallreed, look!” she called, pointing. “What’s that?”

Tallreed straightened and peered in the direction Whistlewind was pointing. “It looks like an overturned boat,” he ventured, his face showing surprise. “What d’you think, Raventongue?”

“I think you’re right, Tallreed,” Raventongue confirmed. “Whose is it, I wonder? It doesn’t look like any of ours.”

“Let’s go find out,” Moonkit suggested.

The object was indeed a boat, the five elves found as they neared it, a small dugout lying keel up and slightly tilted in the dry sand above the waterline. Raventongue was about to comment on this fact when Golda, who had padded a little way ahead of them, stopped dead, the fur along his back bristling.

“Golda?” Amber knelt by her bond-friend, trying to make eye contact with the lynx. “What’s wrong?”

“I think there’s someone under that boat,” Raventongue guessed. “Shall we—”

Just then the overturned hull tilted sharply toward them and a face looked over the curved bottom of the boat. It was a dark face with sea-colored eyes, crowned with a mop of pale curls from which two pointed ears peeked out. “Elves!” the stranger exclaimed. “You’re elves! I can hardly believe it!” She got to her feet, a delighted grin spreading across her face. “Mawna!” She thumped the boat sharply and said something in a language none of the Great Water elves had ever heard before.

Raventongue stepped forward cautiously. He noted out of the corner of his eye that Golda was still bristling, teeth bared in a snarl. He tried to test the air unobtrusively to find out what had alerted the lynx, but the capricious breeze had shifted away from him. “Yes, we’re elves,” he said warily. “Who are you?”

Before the strange elf could answer, the boat tilted again and a second figure rose next to her, taller and broader than she, equally dark of skin, with tangled black hair falling past her shoulders. Golda yowled and spat. Whistlewind whipped her knife out, dropping into a defensive crouch. It took the other elves a moment longer to realize what was wrong. “A human!” Amber gasped, springing to her feet and drawing her own knife.

The curly-haired stranger stared in bewilderment at the suddenly widening semicircle of elves. She held out her empty hands. “Please,” she said, “we’re friends. We mean you no harm. Did I say something wrong? It’s been so long since I talked to other elves.”

“Who are you?” Raventongue asked again. “Where did you come from? And why is this human with you?”

“Mawna? She’s my sister.”

Tallreed blinked owlishly. Raventongue looked disbelieving. Moonkit and Amber gaped at the stranger as if she’d just said her hair was green or that the sea was made of dreamberry juice. Whistlewind continued to glare at the young human woman with narrowed, hate-filled eyes.

“We came from … out there somewhere.” The elf waved her hand vaguely toward the sea. “The storm drove us for days. It’s been impossible to take bearings. So I don’t really know how far we’ve come or where we are. Do you live around here?” she asked hopefully. No one answered. The stranger looked around at the Great Water elves, her expression growing more and more uncertain.

Moonkit began to feel ridiculous. Here they all were, standing around like a bunch of goggle-eyed puffer fish, staring at these two strangers as if they had blue fur and three heads apiece. She stepped toward the elf and the human. “If you’ve been asea for so long, I’ll bet you’re hungry. We brought lunch. Would you like some?”

**Moonkit, have you gone out of your mind?** came Whistlewind’s outraged locksending. **That’s a _human!_ **

**I’ve got eyes in my head,** Moonkit answered irritably. **But neither of them looks very threatening to me. You’re the one brandishing the knife.** She plumped herself down in the sand and took the lid off the basket. “Well? What are you all standing around for? Want me to feed it to the fish?” She beckoned to the two strangers, who came out from behind their boat and sat down in the sand near her. “Hi, my name’s Moonkit,” she said.

“I’m called Mayrah,” said the elf, “and this is Mawna.”

“Mayrah?” Moonkit’s eyes widened a little. “That’s not your soul name, is it?” she blurted. Raventongue shot a look at her. _And they talk about_ my _mouth running too fast…_ Moonkit must be more shaken up than she was letting on.

But the curly-haired elf only laughed. “No. Mayrah is what my parents — that is, Mawna’s parents — called me. My child-name was Spume, but I hope I’ve outgrown that by now.” She thought for a moment, then looked up, her eyes sparkling. “Since I always seem to be washing up on beaches, you can call me Flotsam,” she said, “and my sister can be Jetsam.” She turned to the human girl and said something in the same incomprehensible language she’d used before. The young woman’s face broke into a grin.

During this exchange, the other Great Water elves gradually relaxed enough to sit down near Moonkit, except for Whistlewind, who sat at a noticeable distance. Ignoring her, Moonkit dove into the basket and started handing around the food. “Let’s see, what have we got here? Smoked blowfish, crabcakes, redberries, watercress — uh-uh, Raventongue! The dreamberries are for later! Tallreed, you’re going to eat some of this cress if I have to poke it down your throat. Amber, did you remember to pack the coconut milk?**

**Listen to you being maternal all of a sudden!** Amber teased.

**Look, I gotta practice if I’m going to catch up with Softspeak. And I managed to slip in everybody’s name, too,** Moonkit sent back smugly. **Well, almost everybody’s. Do you think you can get your sourpuss sister over here? I’m tired of feeling daggers every time she looks my way.**

**Leave her alone for awhile,** Amber advised. **You know how she feels about — humans.** She looked at Jetsam uneasily. Humans had killed many of Amber and Whistlewind’s tribe, including their parents, and driven them out of their former territory before they settled here with the Great Water tribe. And that hadn’t ended the troubles, either. But sitting cross-legged in the sand, munching on a crabcake, Jetsam did not look at all threatening. Amber found herself watching, fascinated, as the human girl finished off the last morsel and licked her fingers. Strange to think of humans doing something as ordinary as licking their fingers.

Moonkit waited till everyone had eaten their fill and the basket began to look empty. Then she leaned back against Tallreed’s knees and said easily, “Well, Flotsam, how about the life story? It’s not every day a pair like you washes up on our beach. Anybody can see there’s a tale behind it.”

Flotsam shrugged. “It’s not really very exciting. But if you want to hear it, I’ll be happy to tell you.” She took a swallow of coconut milk and began, her speech soft and accented, lilting like the rhythm of the sea.

“I was born into a tribe of elves that lived on an island far from any other land. We were fishers, taking most of our food from the sea, though there were a few kinds of fruit tree that grew on our island too. My parents died when I’d seen only a hand of Storm Seasons, killed when a blacksail overturned their boat. I had no other near kin, so I was raised by the tribe. I was called Spume then. When I went out alone on the sea in my eighth Calm Season, as all the children of our tribe did, to wait and listen for the wind and wave to speak my name, no one was waiting for me on the beach when I returned.” All the Great Water elves felt a pang of sympathy. One’s rite of passage, the journey into self to find one’s soul name, was always properly performed alone, but for each of them there had been someone waiting to welcome them — to confirm that the newly found self was part of the greater whole of tribe and family.

“When I’d seen eight-and-four Storm Seasons,” Flotsam went on, “I was allowed to go out on the Long Hunt for the first time. That is the last fishing trip taken by all the fishers before Calm Season ends, to catch enough food to last the tribe during the storms. But the first storm came early that year. Our boat was caught by it and wrecked. I never knew if any of the rest of the crew survived. I was lucky enough to find a piece of wreckage big enough to cling to. The wind and waves carried me for a long time. At last I washed up on the beach of a strange island, half drowned and more dead than alive. A human found me there.

“His name was Tawno. He and his mate, Byrah, lived alone in a small hut near the shore. They came from a human tribe that lived on the other end of the island, but the two of them had been sent away. I never found out why. Later on their tribefolk were all killed when the smoking mountain near their village erupted. Tawno and Byrah had a daughter, but she’d drowned only a little while before. They took me in and cared for me as if I were their own child. Maybe Byrah thought I was her daughter returned — she gave me the same name, Mayrah. I don’t think Tawno ever believed that, but it never stopped him treating me as kindly as if I were his own flesh and blood.”

“That’s the biggest load of owl pellets I’ve ever heard!” Whistlewind burst out. “Humans taking care of an elf? Humans hate elves!”

Gentle Tallreed looked hurt. His lifemate’s outbreaks of hostility always dismayed him. Moonkit scowled and began, “Now, look—” but Raventongue held up a hand to silence her. He could have contradicted Whistlewind from his own experience, but he wanted to see how Flotsam would respond to this challenge.

Flotsam looked over at the fiery huntress, her expression quizzical. “I don’t think Tawno and Byrah’s people knew anything about elves,” she said softly. “They don’t even have a word for us. My tribe had legends of how humans attacked and scattered the High Ones, but none of us had ever seen one. It took me a long time to connect the old tales of round-eared, five-fingered monsters with the people who fed me and housed me and taught me their speech and the ways of their island.

“I’d lived with Tawno and Byrah for only a season or so when Byrah found herself with child. She and Tawno were both surprised — they thought Byrah was past childbearing age. But she bore a beautiful, healthy girl-baby, and named her Mawna.” Jetsam, hearing her name, looked up and smiled.

“From the beginning we were often together. Byrah was getting old and couldn’t keep up with an active child. Tawno had his hands full keeping all of us fed. So more and more I looked after Mawna as she grew. And grow she did!” Flotsam chuckled. “It wasn’t long before she started to catch up with me. By her eight-and-second Storm Season she topped my by a handbreadth. We went all over the island together. Tawno made the _Seamew_ for us,” she gestured toward the boat, “and taught us to sail her. After that there was no stopping us!

“In her eight-and-fifth Calm Season Mawna became a woman. Byrah was sad that there was no one to perform the Woman’s Rites for her, since all the wise-women of her tribe were dead. But Mawna and I made our own rite, for I knew then that I’d finally found someone to share with — share all that I was.” She smiled up at Jetsam and slipped an arm around the young woman’s waist. Jetsam’s arm went around the elf’s slim shoulders and drew her close in what was obviously a familiar gesture.

A ripple of astonishment and consternation passed through the Great Water elves. **She can’t mean what I think she means, can she?** Amber locksent to Moonkit in shock. **Giving her soul name … to a _human?_ ” Kit just looked thoughtful, as if she’d been presented with a novel but not necessarily distasteful idea, but her more reserved brother seemed deeply shaken. Even Raventongue, who’d had amicable and even friendly relations with particular humans, found that the thought of one knowing his soul name made him shudder inside. As for Whistlewind, she was glaring suspiciously at Flotsam as if no longer sure this person was an elf at all.

Flotsam seemed not to notice their reactions. Nestled in the curve of the human girl’s arm, she continued her tale, her eyes growing grey and sad. “This last Storm Season, Tawno and Byrah both died of a fever. Mawna had it too, but she is young and strong and I managed to nurse her through it. I couldn’t save our parents. We laid them both in Tawno’s boat and gave them to the sea, as Tawno had wished, and sang the songs he’d taught us. Then we had to decide what to do, for we were all alone.

“I’d often told Mawna stories about my old tribe. She was the one who suggested we take the _Seamew_ and go looking for them. Neither of us had the least idea of how to go about it, since I didn’t know how far away their island was, or in which direction. Still, we decided it was better than doing nothing, and we could always come back if we didn’t find anything. We spent the rest of Storm Season repairing _Seamew_ and laying in provisions for our journey. Once Storm Season was over we set sail. At least we _thought_ Storm Season was over…” She spread her hands and looked around at the group. “So here we are, washed up on the beach again. And we found other elves.” She smiled happily. “I still can’t believe it. Are there more of you?”

Though he was still recovering from his shock, Raventongue managed to return her smile. “Yes, lots,” he answered. He began to tell Flotsam about Great Water Holt and the joining of the two tribes, though without, Moonkit noticed, giving much specific information, or mentioning the elves’ battles with humans and the reason for NeverWinter Holt’s migration.

Under cover of Raventongue’s monologue, she locksent to her brother, **Tallreed, what do you think we should do?**

**Woo! I don’t know, Kit. If they were both elves, it would be easy — we’d just trot them up to Windrunner and BlackTalon and say, ‘Look! Two new tribemembers!’ But this human girl, Jetsam… It’s not that I’m afraid of her, not after hearing Flotsam’s story. I’m afraid _for_ her. Look at Whistlewind.** A wounded expression came into the tall elf’s eyes as he glanced over at his lifemate. **She heard the whole story and she still looks like she wants to put a knife in Jetsam’s back. And there’ll be plenty who’ll feel the same way, ‘specially in BlackTalon’s tribe. They won’t be able to see past the round ears and five fingers.”

**You’re right. But we can’t just tell them, ‘Go away, we don’t want you.’**

**We could take them to the cove, maybe? I don’t think Ashthorn would mind, and Seahawk certainly—**

**No, 'Reed, we can’t. It’s got to be out in the open. We couldn’t hide them forever, and it’d just make things worse when we were found out. I think we’re going to have to grab the eel by the neck and take them before Council. That’s the only way we’re going to resolve this — one way or the other.**

**Righto,** Tallreed agreed glumly. **But this is one Council I’m not looking forward to.**

 

The shouting started almost before Raventongue finished introducing Flotsam and Jetsam and explaining that they wished to stay in the holt for a time.

“A human?” Darkstrider burst out, incredulous anger on his face. “You want to bring a human into our holt? You must be out of your minds! The day I’ll share a tree with the round-eared scum that murdered my kin will be the day the moons fall out of the sky!”

“Nobody’s asking you to, 'Strider,” countered Owlcaller, whom Moonkit had spoken to earlier. “Jetsam hasn’t killed anybody. She doesn’t belong to any of the human tribes around here. Kit told me she doesn’t even speak the same language! Judging her by their example would be as unfair as — as telling Bear-Rider he couldn’t bring his bondmate into the holt because Badger was killed by a bear.”

“Bears have reasons for what they do,” Bear-Rider said, frowning as if displeased by the comparison. “If a bear kills somebody it’s because it’s hungry, or pain-maddened, or protecting its cubs. Humans kill elves just because they hate us.”

“How can you speak up for this human, Owlcaller, when your cub’s barely seen two turns of the seasons?” Halli exclaimed, gripping her son Skydance’s arm. “How could you — how could any of us be sure of our children’s safety with a round-ears in our midst? I’d sooner trust them to the mercies of the Howling Wind!”

“Aw, don’t be a spoilsport, Halli,” came Whipsilver’s mocking voice. “Having a human in the holt might be kind of — fun, at that.” An evil grin spread across his scarred face.

Strutter, always sensitive to innuendo, bounced to his feet indignantly. “Of all the unspeakable— If you or anyone else tried to harm a hair on the head of this one who is _obviously_ only a _child_ —” He flung out an arm toward Jetsam. “Well, they’d have _me_ to deal with!” He slapped at his chest, his dark eyes flashing.

“Yeah?” Whipsilver snickered. “You and what war-party, short stuff?”

“Me, for one,” Diamond cut in, his eyes glinting dangerously. “That’s all the help he needs. The little guy may be kinda far out in the water where humans are concerned, but nobody’s going to push him around if I—”

“That’s enough!” BlackTalon snapped, glaring at all three of them till they subsided. “Softspeak, did you want to say something?”

The rangy Hinhaylay elf nodded and got to his feet. “I’ve h-had more experience w-with h-humans than m-m-most,” he pointed out. “Th-they’re not all alike. It’s t-true s-some of them k-kill elves for l-little more reason th-than that w-w-we’re different from them. B-but some are f-friendly and even w-w-willing to help us. If it w-weren’t for S-stick’s t-tribe,” he pointed out, with a significant glance at Windrunner, “s-s-some of us p-p-probably wouldn’t be s-sitting here n-n-now.” Windrunner nodded but did not speak, remembering his capture by the Gotara-worshipping Stinkers little more than a season ago. The elfin rescue party had allied themselves with the human Tribe without Name in order to free him and drive the Stinkers into the Mist Marsh. He owed his life to that alliance, and to a young human named Mufin who had befriended him during his captivity.

Mongoose was speaking now. “I have no reason either to love or hate humans,” he said, fingering the hilt of his dead father’s sword with one hand, while his other arm rested on the shoulders of his lifemate Wave. “But I agree that it’s unjust to judge anyone without giving them a chance to prove themselves. If we do that we’re as bad as the humans.”

“Aren’t we?” came a sardonic query from the edge of the circle, where the wanderer Viper leaned against a tree. “I’ve seen the worst sides of both,” the saturnine elf went on. “We’re not that different. But that one,” he jerked his chin toward Jetsam, “doesn’t look very dangerous to me. Why not let her stay? It’s her own hide.”

An outraged burst of chittering came from Seafoam, who tended to lapse into otter language when excited. **You think any elf kill for no reason?** she sent finally, after several bewildered faces were turned in her direction.

Windrunner frowned and looked over at Viper. “Whatever you may have seen elsewhere, Viper, it has always been _our_ way to respect life,” he said. Viper’s eyes slitted and their glanced flicked over to Whistlewind, who had sat silent and glowering throughout the discussion. Windrunner ignored him. “I want to hear what some of the elders think. Ashthorn?”

The gray-haired elf smiled. “Well, I can hardly claim to be impartial, what with Moonkit talking in one ear and Seahawk in the other all afternoon. But my opinion is, what could it hurt? One human, and no warrior either, by the look of her. Tallreed says she’s good with a boat…”

“No.” The voice was quiet but decisive. Many heads turned, for Feather rarely spoke out in council, usually letting her flamboyant lifemate do the talking. Even Seahawk looked at her in surprise. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for Jetsam to stay here,” Feather said. “And it’s not just because of our feelings. It’s true that a lot of us — and I have to include myself — would never feel comfortable around a human after all we’ve suffered at their hands. Even though she’d never harmed any of us and never would, she’d still be a reminder of those who did. But aside from that, we should think of Jetsam as well as ourselves. What kind of life would it be for her to live away from her own kind, without any opportunity to have a mate or a family of her own?”

“Not one I’d wish on anybody,” Dove agreed softly, looking over at her soulsister from her place at Raventongue’s side. One of the things she loved most about Feather was that ability to consider the good of others even when they were enemies. Many of the other elves were looking at each other and nodding.

There was a pause. “Does anyone else have anything to say?” Windrunner asked. A few of the elves stirred, but no one spoke. He turned to BlackTalon and they conferred silently. Then he rose and faced the assembly. “All right, I think we’ve come to an agreement.”

He walked over to Flotsam and Jetsam. The two had stood silent throughout the debate, close together as if for protection, looking around apprehensively at the arguing elves. Though Amber had spent the afternoon explaining to Flotsam some of the two tribes’ past history and the elves’ consequent antipathy toward humans, the sea elf evidently could not really believe it, deep down, until it was shown to her. She looked shaken by the revelation. The chieftain smiled at her, trying to put her more at ease. “As you may have gathered, there is a friendly human tribe that lives not far from here. Seahawk, do you think Stick would be willing to take in another, er, orphan?”

“I have not the least doubt of it, my chief,” Seahawk replied. “My human friend is the very soul of magnanimity.”

“Well then. We think it would be best for Jetsam to go and live with Stick’s tribe,” Windrunner said kindly. “They will surely welcome her there. I seem to remember a good many unattached males in that tribe. She should have no trouble finding one who’d be more than happy to give her a family of her own, as Feather suggested. And as I said, they’re not very far away if you wanted to visit every so often. Does that sound good to you, Flotsam?”

Flotsam stared at him blankly for a moment. Then she burst out, “No! You can’t!” There was something akin to desperation in her soft voice. “You can’t separate us! Mawna is my sister. I won’t leave her! You — you talk about her as if she were a pet, or a piece of property to be left in a safe place while I — do what? Live with _you?_ ” She turned to look at the Great Water elves with astonishment and rising anger, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “You don’t understand, any of you. Mawna is not my pet, or my property. We are _sisters_. If you can’t accept that, accept us — both of us — for what we are, then we’ll leave, and go somewhere else where we will be … accepted…” Flotsam’s voice shook and her eyes filled with tears as the elves’ debate ran through her mind and she began to realize how unlikely it was that such a place existed. Her hands went over her face. Her knees buckled as if the outrage holding her up had deserted her. Her shoulders shook with sobs. For a moment there was no sound but the elf’s hopeless weeping.

Then Jetsam was on her knees beside Flotsam, her arms going around the slender elf protectively. She did not understand a word of what had been said, but she knew her sister was unhappy and needed comfort. She cradled Flotsam against here, rocking back and forth and murmuring into her ear, her expression anxious, inquiring, loving. A voiceless murmur went through the assembled elves. There was scarcely one of them who did not know that look or those actions. They all knew the sharing of love and grief, the giving and taking of comfort, were it with mother, father, sibling, lifemate, child, soulbrother or soulsister.

Owlcaller looked over at Fawn and knew their thoughts were the same. The phrase “sisters in all but blood” leaped into her mind. Flotsam and Jetsam shared less of blood than any two elves possibly could, but they were just as much sisters as Fawn and Owlcaller.

Raventongue felt it too. He sensed they all did. All the elves present, some for the first time in their lives, were seeing a human as a being like themselves, capable of grief, tenderness and love. Only for a moment, the tiniest crack in barriers ages old — but he knew that once broken, no barrier is ever as strong as before, and that none of them would be able to look at a human in quite the same way again. The knowledge lightened his spirit like a cool breeze finding a way in to a place long closed off and stifling, a breath of hope.

Dove’s hand crept into his and squeezed it. **Yrek, isn’t there anything we can do?** Raventongue’s glance crossed Seahawk’s, and he passed on Dove’s question with his eyes.

Flotsam’s sobs had quieted, though she and Jetsam still clung to each other, kneeling in the center of the circle of elves. The sound of Seahawk clearing his throat startled everyone and drew all eyes to him. Even Flotsam and Jetsam looked up.

“I do not believe that you will have to travel far to find the place you seek, Flotsam,” he said. “As I mentioned previously, my friend Stick, chief of the Tribe without Name, is the soul of generosity. I feel certain that he will be glad to welcome both you and your sister into his tribe.”

Raventongue’s eyebrows went up. **What about Leroni?** he sent to his soulbrother. **Do you think she’ll be glad too?**

**I consider Stick perfectly capable of handling his lifemate,** Seahawk replied. **He and Mufin have both been, er, indoctrinating her over the past few moons. Mufin, especially, appears to be quite clever at letting Leroni think that _she_ is persuading _him_ that elves are not demons … instead of vice versa. Or so I hear from Stick.** Raventongue smiled inwardly.

Seahawk rose and strode over to the two wanderers. He took Flotsam gently by the shoulders and raised her to her feet. He looked first into her wide sea-colored eyes and then into the dark brown ones of Jetsam, who had risen to stand beside her sister. “What say you, fair ones both? Is this solution acceptable to you?” The elf turned to the human and spoke to her in the strange seaswell language they used. After a moment Jetsam’s solemn face brightened and she answered, nodding. Flotsam turned back to Seahawk, nodding in her turn.

“Yes, we’d like that.”

 

Seahawk found Stick and Mufin together, on the riverbank not far from the humans’ new village. The Tribe without Name, at the Great Water elves’ behest, had recently moved into the richer hunting lands near the mouth of the Long River. The chief was explaining to the young apprentice shaman the workings of a fish-weir. They both glanced up at Seahawk’s hail. “Ho, my friend!”

“Seahawk!” Stick sprang to his feet, his eyes lighting. “It is good to see you, my friend, as welcome as it is unexpected. What brings you here?”

“Not entirely my own inclination this time, but no catastrophe either,” Seahawk replied. He glanced over at Mufin. The youth rose and looked back at him a little nervously. Though he had ceased to think of elves as demons over a season ago, he still wasn’t quite comfortable in their presence.

“I’ll go—” he began.

“No, no! Stay, I entreat you!” Seahawk said quickly. “I am glad to find you here, Mufin. Er, Stick … does it discomfit you that I seem constantly to be finding stray humans to wish on your tribe?” He remembered Raventongue’s quip before they left the holt: _Oh, we take all our flotsam and jetsam to Stick. He’ll take ‘em in, he likes everybody!_

Stick smiled broadly. “Not at all. On the contrary, your ‘strays,’ as you call them, have proved to be blessings to our tribe. Why, have you found another lost one?”

“Two, actually.” Seahawk sent to Raventongue, who had hung back in the bushes with Flotsam and Jetsam. Presently the three of them appeared and came toward Stick. At the sight of the black-haired elf, Mufin almost excused himself again — Raventongue had come within a hair of killing him the first time they’d met — but his curiosity about the strangers outweighed his uneasiness.

“Ah, your brother Raventongue, is it not?” said Stick. “And another of your tribefolk — I do not believe I know her—”

“No, not one of my tribefolk.” Seahawk stepped between Flotsam and Jetsam and took each of them by an arm. “Two of your tribefolk, if you will have them. Their names are Flotsam—”

“Mayrah and Mawna,” Flotsam said quietly, looking up to meet the human chief’s eyes. Stick looked back at her wonderingly. Jetsam and Mufin were meanwhile exchanging curious glances and tentative smiles.

“She is an elf,” Stick said after a moment.

“Yes. But her sister is a human,” Seahawk replied.

Stick’s eyebrows rose steadily as he looked at Flotsam, then at Jetsam, then back at Flotsam. “There is obviously a story behind this,” he said at last. “Shall we find a comfortable spot and hear it?”

They found a grove of willows nearby and seated themselves on fallen logs while Seahawk related Flotsam and Jetsam’s tale (at considerably more length and with many more embellishments than Flotsam herself had used). Both Stick and Mufin were intrigued by the idea of other humans living far across the Great Water. They seemed disappointed as well as saddened to learn that Mawna was the last of her tribe. When Seahawk had concluded the tale with an only slightly edited account of the Council, the human chief sighed deeply.

“Our race has much to answer for, I know that now,” he said. “Yet it is good to know that for all our errors and the evils we have done, such a friendship is still possible. We will indeed be glad to welcome these two sisters into our tribe. I hope they will be happy with us.”

“I believe they will,” Seahawk said. “There is much you can teach them, my friend, and much they can teach you. Though they are both young, they are knowledgeable in the ways of the sea.”

“That is well,” said Stick. “We have need of such knowledge in our new home.” He rose; as the others did likewise, he extended his hands to Flotsam and Jetsam. “Mayrah, Mawna, he said formally, “you are welcome to the Tribe without Name.” The elf and the human both smiled, taking his hands. Jetsam, who had not spoken before, said something in her own language. Stick looked nonplussed for a moment, then said, “Ah, of course. Why should I assume that the tongue of humans from across the sea is the same as our own? This will be one of the things we must teach our new tribemembers.” He pointed to himself. “Stick,” he said carefully.

The island girl imitated his gesture. “Mawna,” she said. She pointed at the human chief. “Sa-ticka?” Then she blushed and amended, “Saticko.”

Flotsam giggled. Everyone else looked confused. Flotsam explained to Seahawk in elvish, “She called him a woman by mistake.” Raventongue snickered. Stick, who had learned a little elvish from Seahawk, caught it too and had to stifle a chuckle of his own.

Mufin, intrigued, pointed to himself and said, “Mufin.”

“Mufino,” repeated Jetsam, again tagging a vowel sound onto the end of the word.

Mufin tapped the trunk of a nearby willow. “Tree.”

“Taree.”

Mufin grinned devilishly and picked up a fallen branch of the willow. “Stick,” he said, holding it out to Jetsam.

“Saticke,” she said, then turned to Stick in confusion. “Saticko?”

“Stick?” a woman’s voice called from outside the grove.

Raventongue started, then did a fast fade into the bushes as Stick called out, “We’re here, Leroni.” A former Gotara-worshipper, Stick’s young lifemate Leroni had once believed that Raventongue had killed her father. No one but Leroni herself knew how successfully she had been convinced otherwise. The best one could say about relations between her and Raventongue was that they were strained. Seahawk glanced after his soulbrother, but remained where he was. A moment later Leroni appeared.

“Oh, Mufin, I didn’t know you were here. Talu is looking for you. Stick, I — oh!” Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Seahawk and the two strangers. She looked as if she was about to beat a hasty retreat, but Stick walked over to her and, taking her by the shoulders, steered her gently but firmly toward Flotsam and Jetsam.

“Leroni, I would like you to meet two new members of our tribe. This is Mawna, and this is her sister Mayrah. They come from very far away and they do not know our language. I would like you and Mufin to teach it to them.”

As Stick continued talking, Leroni’s expression shifted from a mixture of confusion and repulsion to one of confusion and reluctant acquiescence, which finally yielded to dawning curiosity as she watched Mufin point out more objects to Jetsam. By the time Seahawk joined Raventongue, after bidding farewell to Flotsam and promising to take care of the Seamew until the two could find a good harbor for her, Leroni had joined in on the language lesson with a few hesitant suggestions of her own.

**I think you were right, Pyrt,** Raventongue sent as they turned back in the direction of the holt. **Stick seems to have Leroni firmly in hand.**

**It will be good for Leroni to have another friend her own age,** Seahawk answered.

**Especially one who calls a ‘demon’ sister?**

**It should be very good for her,** Seahawk repeated imperturbably. **She is young and intelligent, very adaptable — perhaps you will not feel obligated to conceal yourself in the bushes the next time we come calling.**

**I only wanted to avoid a scene.**

They walked on for a while in silence. Then Raventongue sighed deeply.

**What is it, Yrek?**

**I was just thinking. It’s been — what — two eights-of-eights since the Great Battle?**

**A trifle more, if I am not mistaken.**

**All right, more. The point is that from what you and Windrunner guess, those were Stick’s people we fought then. Yet now…** Raventongue looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the humans’ village. **Why is it that they can forgive and we can’t?**

Seahawk’s far-sighted eyes were sad. **Because they are not the same people, Yrek. Five generations have passed in Stick’s tribe since that time. None of the humans who fought in that battle yet live. But we do. Even fine young fellows such as you and I were alive then, and we are hardly elders like Ashthorn or One-Ear.**

**Or Shimmermist … I sometimes wonder what _she_ remembers.**

**More than I would care to, I am certain,** Seahawk answered.

After another silence, Raventongue asked, **Have you ever told Stick about that? That you won’t age the way he does?**

**No.** There was pain in Seahawk’s sending. **I have not spoken of it to him — yet. Perhaps it is that I have not wished to consider the matter myself.** His tone was faintly accusing.

**I wonder if Flotsam has thought about it. I wonder if she realizes.**

**Whether she has or not, Yrek, I do not intend to be the one who mentions it to her.**

**No … I don’t think I’m going to, either.**

As the two elves walked on through the forest in the deepening twilight, the evening breeze brought the faint strains of joyful music to their ears. The soulbrothers looked at each other, their mood lightening, and exchanged satisfied smiles. In the humans’ village, the Tribe without Name was welcoming two new members.


End file.
